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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056113">Bruised Yet Beautiful</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/santatape/pseuds/santatape'>santatape</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anger, Angst, Crying, Depressed Kozume Kenma, Depression, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kozume Kenma Needs a Hug, Kozume Kenma-centric, Mental Health Issues, Mistakes, POV Kozume Kenma, Pain, Panic Attacks, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Toxic Relationship, Unconventional Self-Harm, Violence, Weird Love Hate Relationship, attempted comfort, he's trying his best ok, kind of, this is really painful i’m sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:33:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,860</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29056113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/santatape/pseuds/santatape</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t mean to do it, really he doesn’t. He just gets angry sometimes. And it results in bruised thighs and sore knuckles.</p><p>In which Kenma struggles with his anger and takes it out on himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Bruised Yet Beautiful</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>please heed the tags! this was based off of my own struggles and i’m pretty much just projecting onto kenma so...</p><p>also this relationship dynamic is so ooc. plot devices are used. don’t question it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn’t mean to. He was sorry. He regretted it. </p><p>Kozume Kenma struggled a lot with controlling his emotions. He thought he had been making progress by reminding himself that little things didn’t matter that much, but whenever he least expected it he would “blow up” as his friends and family liked to call it. He could be playing Mario Kart with Kuroo and be enjoying himself, but the second Kuroo got ahead of him he would feel it. The rage and jealousy heating behind his skin, building slowly to a simmer, not quite yet boiling. He felt it so deep and hot it was painful; burning him from the inside out. He tried to ignore it. He tried so hard to just play it cool, be happy for Kuroo, continue having fun. </p><p>He really did try. </p><p>It never worked. Kuroo stayed ahead of him, they were on their third lap and Kenma was consistently getting coins instead of powerups he could actually <em>use, </em>and he was nearing his inevitable loss of control. He was getting <em>so angry, so jealous and angry and oh my god Kuroo stop being so far ahead I should be winning I’ve played this way more than you have</em>. He wanted to just slam his controller down and scream at Kuroo for being better than him because it wasn’t fair, it didn’t make sense why he would be winning when the amount of times he’d played Mario Kart was still in the double digits. He sensed his own fury and hated it, he hated himself for being so competitive and sensitive to these stupid things. Why couldn’t he just be normal, more like Kuroo? Naturally talented, motivated, extroverted, level-headed, entertaining. Kenma dreamed and wished and prayed to be more like Kuroo. He hated him so much for being so damn perfect all the time at everything he did. It was so unfair and he hated him, he hated him so much. </p><p>But he hated himself so much more, for being so damn sensitive, and jealous, and angry, and emotional, and scared. For being imperfect, and quiet, and aggressive. He hated himself so so so <em>so </em>much for everything that he was. So when Kuroo crossed the finish line with <em>ten coins somehow what the fuck, </em>in first place, Kenma threw his controller on his bed and got up off of the carpeted floor. He took his deep breaths, he counted to ten, he TRIED. He tried so hard but it was so meaningless, it was for nothing <em>oh my god what the hell is wrong with you</em>. </p><p>Kenma screamed. He stood in the middle of his room and he screamed. The tears welling up in his eyes trickled down, dew on a wilted flower. His screams turned to rotting yells as he wept, entire body tense and shaking with the pure <em>red </em>flowing through him, clouding his vision and blocking his senses. His head was pounding with rage and envy, the unfairness of it all weighing on him, crushing him, burning him, and it hurt so <em>bad</em>. His clenched fist hit his thigh once, twice, thrice, over and over with more power behind them than Kuroo’s spikes. His right hand’s knuckles crushed the muscle above his knee so many times, leaving behind ugly yellow, green, purple bruises for him to find later. The canvas of skin painted to convey a galaxy of watercolor was beautiful to him, in a gross, morbid way. He loved poking the bruises the day after his outbursts, feeling the tinge of soreness and pain when he pressed on the ugliness of his leg. </p><p>Kuroo scrambled to his feet and grabbed Kenma’s wrist, <em>shhh</em>ing him with those sad, pitying eyes that cared so much. He tried not to cry while he hugged Kenma, restraining his arms behind his back so he couldn’t hit himself anymore. Kenma just cried into Kuroo’s shoulder, weakly struggling against his iron grip. He just wanted to release his anger somehow, couldn’t he see that? What was so bad about a couple bruises in the long run anyway? It wasn’t like he was planning on playing volleyball professionally, and they didn’t even hurt that bad unless he touched them. He was <em>fine</em>, he just got angry sometimes.</p><p>He was fine, couldn’t someone agree with him? </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It was an accident. He made a mistake, he obviously didn’t plan on the toaster oven catching on fire. Kuroo had brought him lunch wrapped in paper and kept it in the turned off toaster to keep it warm. </p><p>Kenma forgot paper was flammable.</p><p>He turned the toaster on to reheat the food that had gotten cold while he showered and went on his phone while he waited for it to heat up. When Kuroo walked into the kitchen after his own shower, he sniffed the air. “Something’s burning, Kenma.” Kenma quickly got up and turned off the toaster oven, opening it to check the food. “Why is the paper still on this, Kenma? You could start a fire!” Kuroo was clearly concerned. He moved the scorched paper out of the way and a flame revealed itself. </p><p>“Oh my god, Kenma what-” Kuroo began. “What the hell is wrong with you?” his yell echoed in the empty house, bouncing around the surfaces and crashing down on Kenma’s eardrums. He was shaking, teeth chattering in anxiety and fear, tears dripping slowly down the side of his nose. <em>What the hell is wrong with you?</em> He quickly ran from the kitchen and hid in a corner of his room, curled up and shuddering in his tear-soaked clothing. “How the hell did you forget something so simple, you’re stupid, worthless, you don’t deserve to eat anyway. He hates you now. He hates you so much, he’ll break your stuff and hurt you, he’ll shatter you into pieces. You need to leave, get out, run away...” Kenma’s rambles faded slightly as he made up his mind. He was getting the hell away. He repeatedly slammed his knuckles onto his leg as a punishment for being so stupid.</p><p>He packed up some of his sweatshirts and sweatpants, his wallet, his toothbrush and toothpaste, and a phone charger, tearing his cell from his pocket and throwing it into the bag too. He grabbed a couple face masks on the way out of the front door. He quietly walked and ignored the dark and looming feeling of dread that was hovering over his shoulder blades. His pace sped up and before he knew it his feet had carried him all the way to Nekoma’s volleyball club room. Why was he here? How did he even get here? His memories were a blur, the only thing grounding him his bruised thighs. He could feel the mess of black and blue forming over his ruined skin, tender flesh became prodded by his curious index finger, seeking the pain he craved. He pushed hard on the sore spots of his thigh, he wanted the pain so bad. So he stabbed with his fingertip and pinched his skin, leaving behind a thin crescent-shaped indent from his fingernail.</p><p>He didn’t react to the pain at all, the layer of sweatpants got in the way and lessened the feeling, but he was also used to it by now. He never hissed out when he got a bruise or when he pressed down on one anymore because of how many times he had done it. He hated himself for it, but he also loved the feeling. He couldn’t get enough of it. As he walked into the club room - it was unlocked, weirdly enough - he brought his bony knuckles back down onto his thigh. Over and over again, soft <em>thump thump thumps </em>muffled by the fabric of his maroon sweats. </p><p>Tears were pouring out now, a waterfall of salt cascading down his frozen cheeks, the winter air had made them rosy and cold to the touch. He cried as his breathing became shorter, beginning to hyperventilate as his sobs were choked out as wet coughs. He cried for himself, pitying how terrible of a person he was. He cried for Kuroo, for never experiencing the same love he gave so unconditionally to Kenma. He cried for everything he had ruined during his outbursts, all the broken furniture and gaming systems rotting in the back of his mind, the smell of their corpses spreading throughout his brain like a virus. He wept into his hands, snot dripping onto the very same knuckles that had given him the bruises he loved so much. His skin was cracked and dry as he whispered words of self hatred into the silent club room, kneeling on the cold floor with his bag next to him, forgotten. </p><p>He hated himself so much it was painful; the physical pain of his colorful thighs and the emotional pain of the cruel words whispered to himself. He longed for a day where he could look in the mirror and feel happy, feel love, not only for himself but for being alive and for the friends and family members who loved him. How could anyone love him? How could anyone feel proud of him when the only thing Kenma ever felt proud of were the bruises littering his skin? He only felt satisfaction when looking at his legs in the mirror, analyzing each and every spot of bright color on the expanse of his pale skin. Kenma ruined things, that was what he was best at. Maybe that was why he loved to ruin himself, too. </p><p>Kuroo was still at Kenma’s house, he had put out the fire and now realized his boyfriend was missing. <em>Where the hell is he? Did he leave?</em> Kuroo checked the entire house and found nothing but an empty closet and a messy room as clues. Kuroo realized Kenma must’ve ran away after Kuroo yelled at him, and he felt terrible about it. He shouldn’t have said that about him when he knew how depressed and self-critical Kenma was. He regretted making such a big mistake, and he needed to fix it. He had to find Kenma. He grabbed his jacket and his cell phone and ran out into the December night. He jogged past the houses near Kenma’s looking around as he did. He checked his phone for texts or calls and found nothing, so he texted Kenma asking where he was and if he was okay. He also tried calling him, but there was no answer. He then tried calling Hinata to see if he knew where Kenma was, but he knew nothing either. Kenma had left without a word to anyone. </p><p>“Kenma! Kenma where are you? It’s Kuroo, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean what I said!” he yelled into the frigid air, shivering in his light jacket and practice shorts. He began to tear up as he realized that Kenma was nowhere to be found. He didn’t know what to do. </p><p>Kenma was quickly transitioning into a panic attack, spiraling deeper and deeper into his self-critical thoughts and anger. He was hyperventilating, unable to take in enough air to fill up his lungs. He was suffocating, choking on his tears and he <em>couldn’t breathe. </em>Did no one care? Where was whoever unlocked the club room? Did they not hear him? He was screaming for fuck’s sake. He needed help, he couldn’t breathe, he was dying <em>oh my god i’m dying, i’m dying i’m going to die here all alone oh my god help someone help me please</em></p><p>He cried and screamed and choked into his hands, curled up on the dirty floor and hearing the noises he made echo around him. The cold floor was covered in dust and filth and yet he didn’t care, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he knew was he was <em>dying.</em></p><p>It hurt, it hurt so much he needed someone to come save him. He needed help he hurt so bad. His knuckles were bleeding now, for some reason he couldn’t remember. Maybe he slammed his fist on the floor by accident after missing his thigh. Either way it didn’t matter, it was just more pain and all his senses were blending together at this point, he couldn’t feel anything but at the same time he felt <em>everything. </em>His thoughts were rapid fire, a barrage of angry bullets carrying disgusting words with them, telling him to hurt more more more because he deserved it. The blood on his hands wasn’t going away and it scared him, he didn’t want to die he didn’t want there to be blood because blood meant he was hurting himself on purpose which he wasn’t. Blood was for people with mental issues, people who were unsavable, people who were hurting much worse than him. Blood meant death, blood meant sick, blood meant <em>unstable.</em></p><p>Kenma screamed so loud, he was going insane from the excruciating pain he was in. He needed help, he needed Kuroo. He quickly reached into his bag, shuffling around. He probably looked insane but he was so far gone into his mind he couldn’t even begin to think about anything other than <em>Kuroo Kuroo Kuroo, he’ll save you just call him, call him. </em>He finally had a grip on his phone and he slammed his thumb down on the call button, the stretch of his finger so painful, so good. The phone barely rang once before Kuroo picked up, crying and screaming in relief and asking where Kenma was. Until he heard the hyperventilating coming from his cracked cell phone’s tinny speakers. </p><p>“Kenma? Baby where are you what happened? Are you okay? You need to talk to me just tell me if you’re okay.” More panting came from the smaller boy into his microphone. “Kenma baby I’m coming okay? Please just tell me where you are, please I’m begging you.” Kuroo pleaded with the boy who continued to be unresponsive. </p><p>“Neko-ma. N-Nek-” the tall boy could barely make out what he was saying through his short breaths and whispering voice, but he understood enough. </p><p>“You’re at Nekoma baby? I’m coming I’m coming I’ll help you I promise I will.” Kuroo dashed towards his high school, sprinting faster than he ever had before despite wearing only socks. He reached Nekoma and saw the club room door cracked open. He heard sobs and screams and short breaths from inside, and he ran even faster as his destination became closer and closer on the horizon. He saw Kenma inside after he pushed open the heavy door and nearly vomited from the sight of his boyfriend. Kenma’s right hand was bleeding more than he’d ever seen coming from someone, and his right leg had his sweatpants rolled up to showcase the lower half of his thigh, covered completely with bruises. There was none of the cream-colored skin to be seen, just the ugliest shades of purple, blue, black, green, yellow, gray. And from the looks of it, the bruises went up his entire thigh, not just the lower half. </p><p>Kuroo quickly shrugged off his jacket and wrapped one of the sleeves around Kenma’s bleeding hand, caressing his long hair as he did. He whispered to the boy, “Shhhh, shhh, it’s me, baby. It’ll be okay I promise Kenma. It’s me Kuroo. Breathe with me.” He took a deep breath in, Kenma did his best to follow. His glazed eyes looked up at the taller boy, his face soaked with tears. “Now hold the breath,” he continued with his breathing technique instructions to help Kenma calm down. Kenma tried, he really did, but he couldn’t breathe in good enough. He was really screwing this up too. He couldn’t even breathe properly, how were people supposed to love him? He ruined everything he was useless, worthless, stupid, </p><p>“You’re doing so good, baby. Just keep breathing. I’m so proud of you. Feel my breathing.” He placed Kenma’s hand on his chest, not realizing he halted his boyfriends thoughts. Although Kenma didn’t believe him, he kept trying. </p><p>Eventually, Kenma had stopped hyperventilating and was breathing at a decent pace. “You did so well, Kenma. Thank you so much for calling me and for letting me help you. Come here.” Kenma was suddenly wrapped up into a very warm, very Kuroo-like hug. He closed his eyes and let his tears stream down silently, listening to his boyfriend’s breathing and wishing he could’ve calmed down without his help. He went to punch his thigh again, but Kuroo’s hand was wrapped around his wrist, preventing him from leaving another bruise. </p><p>“Let go, Kuroo.” he seethed, icily. </p><p>“No. I told you to stop doing this to yourself, why don’t you?” </p><p>“You don’t get it. I can’t just stop. It’s not that easy.” </p><p>“Please just try not to anymore. For me?” </p><p>Kenma didn’t respond. </p><p>“Don’t you love me, Kenma? I love you so much my heart can barely contain it.” Sadness was beginning to drip into his voice. </p><p>“I’m sorry, Kuroo. I won’t do it anymore.” he replied at last, in a strained voice. </p><p>“Thank you, baby. That means so much to me!” Kuroo beamed and gently carded his fingers through Kenma’s hair. </p><p>Kenma lied. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this idea popped into my head last night and i just needed to write it, so here! took me not very long and i’m actually pretty proud of it. </p><p>i hope you liked it, and don’t be afraid to reach out for help if you’re struggling.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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